The Grand Game of Death
by Hitomi Zotz
Summary: Celestia's family is killed by Orlesian assassins, rescued by magister Alexius she loses her love for the world fast when her mage talents see her captive in Kirkwall's circle. What happens when a woman saved by Alexius and Samson is brought into the world of the Inquistion, is it so easy to see them as enemies? And what do the House of Repose know about her that she should die for
1. Prologue

A young dark haired girl hung back behind her mother's skirts nervously as she stared up at a gold masked man with wary, brown eyes, she could only just glimpse the eyes behind the glittering, metallic facade, kind, warm even, and wrong.

It was a beautiful mask of gold and behind it a deception. The mark of Orlais, a mask- decadence and disguise all at once, it was the practical form of armour for the ballrooms and courtyards where helmets and shields just would not do. With a mask you could be anyone and anything, people could try and guess at the truth but they would never really know, it was all part of the Game not to know, to play or die. Even at the tender age of eight Celestia de Couste knew this, her family had schooled her well, and their friends and rivals had schooled her better.

"Count Van Herne," her mother greeted cordially with a hint of a smile showing above her feathered fan, "you honour us with your presence."

"The honour is mine Lady de Couste," the gold masked man retorted glibly.

Count Van Herne, it was a name Celestia knew vaguely, a man of great power, prestige and mystery like so many people appeared, claimed to be and rarely were in Orlais. Count Van Herne supposedly owned property in Orlais and Antiva and held sway over men all across Thedas, save the Tevinter Imperium.

Celestia glanced up at her mother curiously and was further puzzled by the faint blush at her mother's powdered cheeks. This was her mother's ball after all, had she not expected the count? Perhaps no one expected him; maybe he was always invited but never seen. Celestia was too tired to ponder it; she wanted her bed, to be away from the noise and the masks, particularly his cold mask of yellow gold. She could not go just yet however, this was a ball in honour of her family after all, her mother was celebrating her tenth year as Lady of the Gilded Forest, an elaborate title, and one Celestia thought quite grand. She was too young and naive to realise that it was just a title and quite meaningless, a cruel and mocking one that reminded the Dalish of the de Couste's dominance over the forest lands of west Orlais and their brutal and bloody conquering of the Dalish who had dwelled there.

"Well please do enjoy the party dear count and let me know if you require anything," Lady de Couste said politely as she continued to fan herself.

He nodded with a kind smile and bowed low. Her mother lowered her fan at last and curtseyed accordingly. Feeling her mother's scornful grey gaze, Celestia realised she had to copy suite and gave a clumsy curtsey. The count smirked at the child's inelegance before commenting, "and whom is this delightful child?"

"My daughter," Lady de Couste introduced hastily as she raised her fan to hide the deep blush that bloomed at her embarrassment, "Lady Celestia de Couste." How improper for her to have forgotten introducing her own child!

"An only child?" Count Van Herne queried curiously.

Lady de Couste nodded. "Indeed, but we are still young, yes?" She flashed a pearly smile above the fan before letting out a girlish giggle.

"Indeed Lady de Couste, we are still young," the count answered calmly with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Young lady, how old are you?"

Celestia blinked up at him speechless, fearful to answer.

"Eight," Lady de Couste answered hastily when her daughter failed to respond, "and shy yet."

"Eight," he murmured, "very young, but innocent, if only we could stay that way forever."

"Oh but how dull the Game would be then," Lady de Couste jested.

"Indeed."

Other guests soon came to speak to the elusive count and after a few minutes of listening to the inane chatter, Celestia took the opportunity to sneak off. She knew she could not flee to bed as she desired, undoubtedly a servant would stop her before she even made it to the stairs, but she could at least escape the babbling for a moment and find someone closer to her age.

She hunted through the fine ballroom, pausing a moment to awe at this season's dresses and suits in awe, balls were always a spectacle and her mother's were always themed, this evening the theme was beings of the water. It had sounded magical to Celestia and she had wanted to dress as a swan but her mother had scorned and reminded her that she was too young to partake and was there to observe, and so she was permitted only a plain dress of cream and a simple, porcelain mask.

Plenty of women spun across the room in feathered dresses of white and silver in an imitation of swans whilst men danced in vibrant shades of green and blue, imitating sea deities and river spirits. The ballroom itself glittered in a thousand tiny iridescent beams from the crystal and gold chandeliers that hung high above, designed so that the wax from their candles did not drip down and spoil the turquoise tiles, and positioned so that they reflected off the mirrored walls and filled the room with light.

In all of their grand winter home this room was Celestia's favourite, there was something magical about the ballroom when it was lit and full of music and dancing. As she watched on shyly she promised herself that when she was older she would host parties every evening and be known as the finest dancer in all of Orlais.

Catching a scornful eye of an uncle the young girl slipped away, disappearing out to a crowded hall where she spied her cousin Tarin bored and playing with a golden ball. "Tarin!" she called to him cheerfully with a smile as she hoisted up her skirts with both hands and raced to him. Tarin was two years older than her and since turning ten had carried an air of superiority about him, claiming that now he was of double digits he had a newfound wisdom. The fact that he pronounced the word as wissdumb thanks to a gap between his teeth due to the late loss of his baby teeth, did nothing to persuade him that perhaps he was still young yet.

The brunette boy looked to his younger cousin with a spark of joy in his eyes that he tried and failed to conceal. He was bored and his golden trinket was doing little to amuse him, especially since he had been warned not to play with it indoors and yet was not allowed outdoors with it because it was too cold and dark. "Celestia," he greeted politely with a nod.

Celestia released her taffeta skirts as she halted before her cousin and marvelled at his trinket. "What's that?" she queried.

He glanced down at it, clutching it a little tighter before grinning up at her with pride. "A golden ball," he boasted, "my father bought it for me, he got it from a cursshed toad, it's magical."

Celestia's eyes widened even as she frowned. "I don't believe you," she scoffed though she wondered if there was possibly any truth to it.

"That's because you're sshilly," he scorned her, "just eight, what do you know?" He scowled at her and hugged the ball into himself.

"Let me see it if it's so special!" she snapped at him.

"No, it doesn't work if you don't believe," he grumbled.

"Well then I do, please let me see Tarin!"

He frowned, glanced about and then beckoned her close in a conspiratorial manner. Celestia leaned forward obediently. "Alright but not here, anyone might see," he whispered to her.

"Well where?" she demanded.

"Follow me," he said with a wink.

He stood up and led the way down the corridor, pausing every so often to check for familiar faces or watchful guards. No one was paying any heed to the children however, too caught up the gossiping and rumour that was the Game. Tarin led them through a couple of corridors and down the large music hall before slipping out through an open, white and glass door that led out to the small Water Gardens. Full of fountains, small waterfalls and brooks trapped in raised walls, and ponds, it was now a wonder of shimmering ice, glittering frost and sparkling snow, a beauty of white, silver and pale blue, it was hard to believe that its charm came from nature rather than man.

It was freezing outside and Celestia paused in reluctance, rubbing her reddening hands together and frowning at her cousin as her breath misted out before her. "Tarin-" she began a protest.

"Hush!" he scolded her with a warning look before beckoning her on. He led her behind a cluster of holly bushes with fresh red berries budding on them and then looked to her boldly. "Or I won't show you my ball!"

"Come on Tarin just show me the ball."

He folded his arms and frowned stubbornly. "No," he retorted childishly.

Celestia scowled at him, fed up with his secrecy now and angry that he had brought her out to the cold just to refuse her. She pounced on him suddenly, knocking him into the snow with a cry. "Show me!" she snapped as she fought with him for the ball.

"No!" he retorted as he pushed and kicked back at her with a wild energy.

Celestia gave a yell of pain when he smacked her hard up the jaw with the golden ball and had her reeling back as she tasted blood and her eyes became soaked with tears. He looked up at her in a moment of horror before sitting up and reaching to her. "Celestia-"

She shoved him hard with both hands before standing up and shrieking, "keep your stupid ball, it's not magic anyway!" She turned from him and stormed off back through the snow, her hair in disarray, her mask crooked and her lip stained with blood as she did. She was a scandalous sight but she did not care, she was cold and in pain and she wanted nothing more than for this wretched night to end.

She rushed through the porch door before pausing to catch her breath. Several gasps of alarm and disgust surrounded her before a woman quipped shrilly, "my word what a disgrace! Look at her hair! What a wild child!"

"Isn't she our dear hostess' daughter?" a man sneered mockingly from behind a blue mask.

"Goodness the scandal!"

Celestia's eyes burned anew at the jests and accusations that surrounded her and she knew that it wouldn't be long before word reached her mother and then she would really be in trouble.

"Oh dear." She looked up at this new voice, it was teasing and yet kind. She found herself staring at another decorative mask of gold; this one had a long, hooked nose and was birdlike in appearance. It was so odd Celestia did not know whether to be in awe or fear of it. The speaker tutted at her before producing an embroidered handkerchief from his soft, black jacket, kneeling down and dabbing at her bloodied lip with it.

"Poor girl," he sympathised, "you're hurt." His accent was not Orlesian, Celestia thought it might be Tevinter but she could not be sure. He was young and wearing a black tricorn hat with a beautiful amber and red feather in it, an expensive suit with a soft, white shirt and a gold ascot. His skin was milky fair with a faint scar showing below his left eye beneath his mask.

"Who are you?" she queried quietly as she stared into his golden-brown eyes.

"One of Count Van Herne's men, please, call me Corvus." He grinned as if his name was an elaborate joke but Celestia did not get it.

The blonde flinched when he smoothed down her tangled hair with his other hand, brushing the melting snow out of it as he did. "There now, better, pretty enough to dance I think."

"Dance?" she echoed dumbly.

He nodded as he folded up the bloodstained handkerchief and pocketed it back against his breast. "Yes, it wouldn't be right if the lady of the house didn't have one dance this eve." He held out a grey gloved hand to her and she looked to it curiously.

"I'm not the lady of this house," she muttered with uncertainty.

"You are a lady and you are of this house," he replied assuredly, "so yes, you are the lady of this house."

"Celestia!" it was the annoyed cry of Tarin that made up her mind. Hearing her cousin stomping towards her, the blonde reached out and accepted the hand. It was soft to the touch, softer than the downy pillows of her bed and warm, yet when his much larger fingers clasped about her dainty hand she suddenly felt trapped.

He led her to the dance floor quickly and as if by magic she heard the string quartet begin her favourite tune and forgot her fears. It was like a fantasy as the much taller and older man led her over the turquoise tiles, guiding her effortlessly through the shocked crowds and moving quickly to the tune, somehow elegant and smooth despite his partner being much smaller than him.

Alas, the dance was all too brief and when the song ended, Corvus was swift to lead Celestia off the dance floor. He gave her a small smile as he continued to hold her tiny hand and murmured, "there now, the evening isn't so bad. You've danced, so many girls don't ever get to dance like you did but you have, that's something."

He released her hand and hurried into the crowds, abandoning her to ponder his strange words. She did not have long before her fuming guardian, Nanny Enrin, was over to scorn on behalf of her mother.

"You are too young for such a display," the elf hissed at her disapprovingly, "your lady mother is appalled by your behaviour, such attention you have garnered and for all the wrong reasons! It's off to bed for you now before you can cause anymore shame, you and Tarin both, the night is late." The elf gripped her tightly by the hand and pulled her through the tittering women and men who rolled their eyes and tutted loudly in disapproval at the child.

Enrin was relieved when she found Tarin lingering by the long, midnight blue curtains that hung at the tall windows, looking fed up and tired, it gave the elf hope that he wouldn't argue with her. "Come master Tarin, it's time for you both to go to bed."

"With her?" Tarin retorted angrily, dashing the servant's hopes for a subtle and peaceful retreat upstairs. "I certainly sshant."

"It's shall not," Celestia sneered unkindly, "shan't isn't a word." She forked out her tongue when he scowled at her earning a glare of admonishment from Enrin who tightened her grip on the child until it hurt.

"Children it is your parents' orders," she hissed, "now don't dally, it's late and you have been up far longer than I would have allowed."

"But Celestia sleeps in a nursery," Tarin pouted as he folded his arms, "I'm too old for that."

"So am I," Celestia protested as she looked up at the elf hopefully.

Enrin sighed and mentally cursed her ill luck to be burdened with such awkward children, then she gritted her teeth and remembered how dear they both were to her despite being shemlen and how they weren't always so bad. "Well there is a guest room," she allowed, regretting the words the moment they were out of her mouth. "But only if you both promise to be quiet and good," she added quickly with a warning, green eyed glower.

"Oh yes," Celestia enthused with a nod. She had never slept out of the nursery, save once when she had suffered a disturbing nightmare with a half-rotted man, a roaring dragon and scary men who were large and red like demons. It had woken her instantly and she had screamed and sobbed her way to her parents' room where her mother had groaned, lamented the poor quality of the nursemaids and dismissed her only child with a wave. Her father however had sensed that it was not the usual nightmare of talking bears and hungry wolves and welcomed her into his consoling arms. Apart from that one night however the nursery was where Celestia's bedchambers lay.

"Where is father?" she queried Enrin curiously as they started to walk. "Has he come yet? Can I bid him goodnight?"

Enrin frowned and shook her head. "No Celestia he is still away on business, I expect he shall not be here until the dawn, now quiet as you promised or it's straight to the nursery!"

Celestia obeyed as did Tarin, though he waved his golden ball at his cousin tauntingly several times as they journeyed up the wide, blue carpeted staircase, then down a hall decorated with expensive vases and statues, up another staircase and down another corridor with numerous family portraits adorning the walls, before pausing outside a single, wooden door with a gilded door handle.

Enrin led the way into a large, dark room and was quick to seize the tinder box sitting on a table close to the door and begin lighting the silver candelabrum. She lifted it with one hand and guided the children to the two single beds. "Now, off with your shoes and masks," she ordered, "and into bed, I shall return with your bed clothes quickly, and remember, not a peep!"

The children obeyed and clambered into bed before the maid hurried off. Once she was gone Tarin was swift to say, "you shouldn't have sstormed off like that, very childish."

"Very childish to keep your ball from me," Celestia retorted grumpily. She was thinking of Corvus still and that wondrous dance, playing the tune over and over in her head. She vowed never to forget it, he had been so handsome, a true prince she was sure.

When Enrin finally returned the children had already nodded off, thinking it too cruel to wake them even though it might mean a telling off for her as their fine clothes would be wrinkled, she chose not to disturb them and instead shut the door and returned to the guests.

The night wore on until late; the noble guests drank, jested and exchanged barbs disguised as compliments and thinly veiled threats along with praise in the hope for favour. For hours the Grand Game continued on, though not everyone was quite aware of the tactics or the nature of the players. Unknown to the masked guests many of the guards seemed to drift off, succumbing to poisons in drinks or mixed with perfumes on necks, lured away by women in tight corsets or tricked into following a pleading guest, or simply struck down in the shadows. The methods were different but the result was the same and as the midnight hour approached the number of active guards was low and even some of the guests seemed to have vanished.

A few unfortunate elfin servants found telltale corpses in the basement near the servants' quarters but they did not live to tell the tale for as soon as they turned to run and sound the alarm a guest in a gilded mask cut them down swiftly.

On the second hour of the morning the guests finally began to drift off to their homes, quite unaware that they were leaving because a masked killer had permitted it not because they themselves had chosen to go. Oblivious, Lady de Couste paused to bid them all farewell with a tired gaze, lingering at the door each time to look out eagerly, hoping to spy her husband walking up the path, but he was not there.

Tired, she turned from the door for the last time and headed towards the stairs. She paused at the foot of them upon hearing a bloody shriek. Alarmed, the beautiful blonde looked about for guards but spied only a pale faced, wide eyed elf maid. "Quickly girl," she snapped, "find the guards!"

The elf nodded hastily and hurried for the door. Lady de Couste looked up the stairs again in horror but there were no more screams. She glanced out of the corner of her eye nervously, suddenly aware that the main hall seemed dark, empty and cold. 'Where are the guards?' she wondered nervously. 'Where are the servants? This can't be right!'

Upstairs Celestia awoke at the scream, sitting up sharply and looking about the dark room in confusion. She waited for another sound, an explanation but none came. Terrified and overcome with a heavy sense of wrongness, she pushed off the covers and crept out of bed. She turned to Tarin's bed and froze up when she spied a silhouette there. It was a man with a long beaked mask, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other and what looked like a sword across his lap, one hand steadying it, and the other cleaning it but of what?

Her heart was beating madly against her chest like a wild moth and she felt her breath catch in her throat as if even to breathe might give her away. Yet surely he had heard her sitting up with fright and clambering out of her bed, why then did he not act? She looked at his shadowy shape, taking in the long, curved beak of the mask, could it be? She could not call to him, instead she cried out to her cousin hoping to stir him, "Tarin!"

"He cannot hear you child, not now," the calm voice of Corvus answered.

"What do you mean?" she demanded fearfully.

"He is in a better place, perhaps, but it was peaceful."

She shuddered and cried out again, "Tarin!" She ran to the bed and reached for the lump lying there, shaking it hard and giving a gasp when her palms came away damp.

"Dirty again young lady," Corvus scorned calmly, "tut tut."

"What have you done?" she choked out angrily. "What have you done?"

He stood up from the bed and turned towards her, she could hardly see him and yet she could feel his eyes piercing through her in the gloom. "I have done the bidding of the House of Repose, now dear lady it is your turn."

She turned quickly, everything in her telling her to run, and bolted for the door. She heard him following, and dared not look back. Her hand grasped the handle and she tugged it down and fled out of the room. Outside the hallway was dim and she felt that wrongness again, even at night the corridors were well lit and there were always guards on patrol and servants ready for any command but tonight she saw no one. She rushed for the stairs, halting when she saw her confused mother at the bottom of them.

"Mother!" she wailed. "Mother quick, there's a bad man in the house!"

Lady de Couste could only stand there stupidly, eyes wide as her only child came racing down the stairs towards her. Some quiet voice in her mind noted that the girl was barefoot and still in her dress, now wrinkled and...stained? Was it red? Why was it stained in red? Why were her hands red? She shuddered in revulsion when those same stained hands wrapped around her waist tightly and stained her dress.

"Mother we need to go," she sobbed, "there's a bad man!"

"Foolish child," Lady de Couste scolded as she looked about the corridors for the elf maid, "it is only a confused drunk overstaying their welcome, the guards will come and see to it." Yes, that was all this nonsense was and the scream was just the cry of another drunk, probably Lady Gwen Redin, she was known for being terribly clumsy when drunk, probably tripped over her own feet and fell. Lady de Couste gave a small smile at the thought, yes that was all it was.

Celestia filled with confusion when she felt the air whistle an inch above her head and her mother turned rigid in her grasp. The confusion turned to horror when hot, damp drops fell onto her crown of dark hair and she found herself looking up slowly, unwilling and yet unable to stop. There was a bloodstained blade above her head, protruding out of her mother's chest. Celestia let out a gasp of horror before shutting her eyes and hugging her mother tight, this wasn't real, this couldn't be real! She was still in bed with Tarin, this was a nightmare, it had to be!

"Backstabbing isn't usually my forte," the cool voice of Count Van Herne rang out, "but it was a special request."

Lady de Couste let out a bloody gasp but was unable to speak. She could think only of the horrible stain that was on her dress now, it was ruined and it had been such a lovely piece too, specially tailored for tonight. She shuddered as her thoughts turned dull and a blurred image of her husband blocked her vision of the darkened hall. Where was he? Dear Sebastian, could he be far?

The sword was pulled out and the lady's body crumpled in her child's arms but Celestia was too small and weak to support her and slumped with the effort. Her hands were on her stomach now in a futile effort to embrace her mother.

"Mummy," Celestia choked out as she felt her mother turning cold, "mummy it's a bad dream."

"Yes Celestia," the count soothed, "just a bad dream." He paused as he heard footsteps on the cold tiles of the hall and looked up to the approaching Corvus who had come down the stairs as silent as a shadow. The count frowned from beneath his golden mask in disapproval and mimed a finger slicing across his throat before nodding at the girl. "Just a dream little one but it started nice, there was a party remember, music and dancing, think back on that young one and the bad dream will go away."

"Away," Celestia mumbled.

"Yes," the count murmured with an impatient glance at the slowly approaching Corvus, "far away, like a forgotten leaf in the wind, just let it go."

Without warning the main door was forced open to thud loudly against the wall, bringing Celestia back to the grim reality. She turned to face the intruder with the assassins and let out a cry. "Daddy!" She started to run towards the bloody and bruised lord who wielded a bow in one hand and was ready with an arrow in the other.

"Duck Celestia!" he snapped quickly as he readied the arrow and took aim.

Corvus tried to dodge, letting out a shriek of pain as the arrow sliced across his left cheek, reopening the bottom of his scar. The false count broke into a run, his bloody sword at the ready as he locked eyes with his final prey. "Home just in time late Lord de Couste," he mocked.

The lord readied another arrow as his daughter reached him with a sob and fired. The phoney Count van Herne beat it away effortlessly with a swing of his sword before attacking with a cry. Lord de Couste pushed his daughter to one side and raised his bow to block the sword. Metal clanged off metal before Lord de Couste pushed back hard and then punched out with his right hand, catching the fake count hard across the jaw. "I don't know who you are but you will pay for this!" Lord de Couste spat out in outrage.

The false Count van Herne spat up blood before turning back with a grin. "It's not personal," he sneered, "just business, as is the way of Orlais." He struck out again with the sword, slicing hard up the count's left arm causing him to cry out in pain and Celestia to scream before both her hands covered her mouth.

"Run Celestia!" Count de Couste snapped. "Run fast!"

Corvus moved in lazily, he could see it would be an easy kill with his help and he was not perturbed. He was surprised however when Celestia dove at his companion with a vicious snarl, tackling him below the knees and sinking her teeth into his right leg causing him to fall in a tumble. Lord de Couste almost seized the advantage but then Corvus moved. He was lithe, fast and elegant, his speed almost unnatural as he cleared the space in seconds to swing his sword cleanly through the man's neck.

Celestia glanced up in time to see her father's head severed in one bloody move before it struck the floor and rolled across it like a ball. It was horrifying and for a moment she was still, giving the fake Count van Herne a chance to throw her off. She was stunned by the sight and had she paused for a moment longer she would have shared her father's fate but just then a voice screamed at her to run. She should have refused but she didn't, she sprang to her feet with an unnatural energy and fled into the winter night out the door her father had burst through.

Count van Herne cursed and Corvus made to follow but she was already gone, lost to the darkness and snow and too many people had strode across the snow for her tracks to be spotted easily. "Let the cold kill her," the false count snarled as he spat up a mouthful of blood, "she is young and hardly clothed for the weather, she will die before she reaches anywhere significant."

"We may pray for that," Corvus said coldly, "lest the House of Repose hold us in disgrace."

The gold masked man turned a glare of disapproval upon him. "You should have killed her in the room, how did she escape?"

"She was not in her room," Corvus answered sincerely. "She slipped from my grasp when a sloppy kill alerted her."

"Yes, Rulin's work," the assassin grumbled, "he will be punished for that later. Let's just make sure everyone else is dead then."

Corvus nodded and turned grimly from the doorway.

Against all the odds the assassins' prayers went unheeded and by luck or divine interference the young and terrified Celestia found sanctuary in a most unusual form. Cold as the ice that surrounded her, in agony and close to death the young girl collapsed beneath the silvery light of the full moon at the edge of the woods and off the main path. She closed her eyes feeling sleepy and thought of her father, it was just a terrible nightmare, all she had to do was close her eyes and when she reopened them he would be there alive and well, standing hand in hand with her mother who would pout at her wrinkled dress.

She should have been easy to miss, small and covered in a fresh sprinkle of snow but it was the vibrant, carmine bloodstains that gave her away, drawing the eye of a mage who was very much out of place on this dark morning. He himself did not know what to think when he spied her instead of the rare moondream flowers he had been hoping to find, was it fate, coincidence or something more? Should he acknowledge her or turn away?

He thought of his wife Emera and young son Felix, they would never turn away from such a helpless child and they would not forgive him for abandoning one. Sure they would never know but he would. So he strode towards the girl, kneeled down and touched her neck with two fingers, there was a pulse, faint but still present. With reluctance he shed his own blue, furred robe and wrapped it around her before picking her up.

Reaching the main road, the mage paused only once to search for anyone who might have accompanied the girl before he hastened back to the small camp he and his modest party of guards, slaves, and companions held refuge in. He wondered dully if she would even live through the night and if she did, what then?

"Master Alexius?" a young mage queried with a curious look.

Gereon Alexius looked sternly to the elf slaves that stood ready for his orders. "Fetch some healing poultices and blankets, and brew some hot water," he commanded them. They hastened to obey.

It was against all the odds that the Tevinter magister and his servants and slaves managed to coax the newly orphaned girl back to life. She was fearful and mute however and for three days remained that way. Pale and ghoul eyed, only her ruined clothes were a hint to her origin. Clueless about her, Gereon felt he had little choice but to bring her along with him when they were ready to move on.

When they reached the small town of Velun the air was heavy with the usual rumours of Orlais, Gereon ignored the majority of them but one that was only just starting to take fruit caught his attention. A bloodbath on a noble's estate, the term Bloody Ball was starting to gain popularity with an alarming fervour. The details were scant but upon hearing the rumour whispered at the marketplace the strange girl's eyes went wide and she whimpered.

Later, when they had done their business, and Gereon talked of leaving the girl in the care of another in the hopes of eventually being returned to her home, she had grabbed him violently and started to sob in response. He had wanted to push her away, burden another with her and leave, his duty was done after all, he had saved her from the cold, even seen her fed and better clothed, yet when she had turned that teary, desperate face upon him he had thought once more of his wife and son and how they would embrace her if they were here and insist he not be cruel and abandon her. So the mage relented against his better nature and departed Velun with the child in tow.

A week later and she finally spoke, whispering in horror to the mage alone of masked men at a ball murdering all around her. Certainly there was an exaggeration to the tale and a lack of some details but she was only a child, one suffering a terrible shock at that, so Gereon could forgive her. She failed to reveal more and he did not push her but even when they crossed into the Tevinter Imperium the intrigue about the girl never quite left the mage, a lone survivor of a massacre, why?


	2. Chapter 1- The City of Chains

_This fic begins in 9:36 Dragon, five years after the Fifth Blight is ended, a year before Anders destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, and five years before the breach is opened at Haven. It included characters from all three games but will be oriented more towards the events and characters of Inquisition, meaning the timeline will catch up to the events of Inquisition soon enough._

_Please read and review, I really do appreciate reviews as they let me know how this fic is being received, what people like and don't like and what and whom they would like to see or see more of._

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><p><span>9:36 Dragon<span>

The City of Chains, it was meant to be a free city now and yet the chains still hung at the gates and for certain citizens they seemed to grow tighter and tighter. Celestia had come to the city as a freewoman three years ago and now she was fleeing it as a criminal, an apostate, probably a maleficar in most people's eyes. Had she only realised how fiercely Knight-Commander Meredith had been choking the mages or how careful a mage had to be or, most importantly of all, just how deeply the hatred of all things Tevinter ran in the city, then she might never have come to Kirkwall.

She didn't think she would ever know why the templar had ushered her into a secret passage in the dead of the night; he had been trembling and sweating as he did it, his blue eyes wide with terror. Everything about his demeanour had suggested he was helping her out of reluctance rather than a conscience. Right up until she had slipped down and out into an unused tunnel where a grumbling pirate and a mage were waiting Celestia had been half-convinced it was a setup. She had expected to find templars and perhaps Meredith herself waiting to arrest her for trying to escape so they could make her Tranquil or hang her. Of course she had expected such a grim fate three years ago upon learning of the loathing for Tevinter mages above all others, but that loathing had meant no one wanted her to be taken from them too quickly. Mages and templars alike had enjoyed hurting her for what she was, with few exceptions.

The small fact that she was Orlesian born and bred mattered little, the very few times she had mentioned that she had been condemned as a liar. Her Tevinter accent and mannerisms were too thick, a consequence of being raised from the age of eight as one. She had not gone into details about her claims to be Orlesian, Gereon had warned her not to speak of it after all.

"Come on," the Rivaini pirate, who called herself Isabella, grumbled from her left side, "we're nearly there and I would so hate to be arrested so close to getting the deed done."

"Deed?" Celestia echoed curiously as she walked hastily. They had run in the sewers but now above ground apparently running would attract too much suspicion. So, with a plain, brown, hooded cloak donned, Celestia moved incognito giving off the appearance of a beggar with some questionable companions. The pirate had assured her that they looked like the regular lowlifes of Kirkwall's streets and that no one would bother them but the raven haired woman could not help her doubts.

The dark skinned beauty just gave her a pretty smile before continuing on. Neither she nor the mage, who kept his staff barely concealed, were willing to divulge much about why they were helping Celestia or how they were helping her or if they even were helping her.

'Still could be a trap,' Celestia thought wearily as she glanced up at the stars. It had been a long while since she had seen the night sky without iron bars breaking it up and just over a year since she had tasted fresh air. She sucked it in greedily before looking to the dark streets ahead and walking on warily. There were other people out, some lone beggars and drunks, small groups of weary workers staggering from the tavern or strolling home late from a long day's work, and the odd cluster of questionable folk who gave them cold stares but said nothing.

She smelt salt on the air and heard the low lapping of water against manmade walls, they were approaching the docks. It has been so long she could scarcely remember what they were like; she had arrived to Kirkwall on the docks like so many others and never returned. 'Now will I escape the same way I came?' she wondered dryly. 'Impossible, escape is impossible for all collared mages,' she thought bitterly.

Had they noticed yet? Their prize mage prisoner gone, of course someone had noticed, whether a Chantry sister, templar or mage, it did not matter, they all hated her save a small few. The First Enchanter Orsino had showed her some kindness but she was certain that was only because she irked Meredith so, and it had done her little good, only riling other mages' hatred for her as jealousy over her attention from the First Enchanter had replaced their indifference.

"Well we're here," the blonde mage to her right spoke up calmly as they stepped onto the dusty, golden ground of the docks.

It was quiet save for the calm lapping of the waves and the occasional call of a dog or squeak of a bat. The few moored boats appeared deserted, the rundown buildings had little life, though some had low candles burning in the windows, and the streets were void of activity save theirs. There were crates, barrels, nets and a few rotting fish bones which some cats squabbled over littering the wooden docks, and the air was heavy with the odour of salt and fish. Celestia breathed it in deeply like it was a rare perfume whilst the pirate wrinkled her nose in disgust before giving the dark haired woman an odd look.

"Do you like the stench of fish?" Isabella queried bluntly.

"It makes a change from the musty smell of the tower," Celestia retorted calmly.

The blonde mage tensed slightly as his expression suggested he understood. "I was the same," he confessed quietly, "every time I escaped the tower in Ferelden I always enjoyed breathing in the wild, fresh air. There was and is nothing better than seeing the sky and taking in new air and just..."

"Being free," Celestia finished for him as she met his empathetic, brown gaze. He had been at odds about helping her, she was a mage so he sympathised but she was Tevinter and even he had a questionable opinion about Tevinter mages despite his failed attempts to keep that from her. "Is that what I am?" she queried.

"Well rabbit that's up to you," the Rivaini retorted brightly, "we just helped get you out, staying that way is your job."

Celestia sighed as her honey-brown eyes filled with defeat. "They have my phylactery," she stated bluntly, "and I have no coin and no contacts here to help me." She filled with fresh anger at her words, three years without any of them looking for her, she had tried to send word but even with the favours she traded templars to get her letters out she was certain they had been infiltrated. The first year maybe not but there had been no reply nonetheless. Although no one had ever brought the letters to her with accusations somehow she knew that for the past two years none of her letters had left Kirkwall. 'I suppose I never told them,' she thought in despair, 'not really. I never fitted in with their plans or their Tevinter moulded family, and Dorian said it might be better seeing the world. Who could have known I would come here?'

"Well that's not true," Isabella answered merrily, "or we wouldn't all be here."

Celestia looked at her suspiciously but before she could query her words there was the sound of footsteps on the ground.

"Hawke," the blonde mage remarked with relief.

Celestia followed his gaze to a young woman in second-hand, light armour approaching with a rundown man beside her. Celestia did not know the woman and she barely took her in before her sharp golden-chesnut gaze looked to the man. Despite the stars it was a dark night as the moon was only a small, white sliver in the sky and partially concealed behind clouds, and yet as they came closer she was able to take him in.

"Well, well," Isabella commented coyly as she folded her arms and looked to the man as well, "our mysterious mage helper. Didn't it all go a bit awry last time?"

"Indeed," the blonde growled out, his face suddenly fierce as he glowered at the man, "you sent mages who couldn't pay you to slavers!"

"That's wasn't my fault," came the grumbled protest, "he was meant to help them, I didn't know."

That gruff voice, definitely him then, he was thinner and shabbier, his muscles had wasted in the past couple of years, his armour was gone, he was dirty, his hair was unwashed and tangled and he was growing uneven stubble but it was still him. Celestia hastened to him, so eager to see a familiar face and so overjoyed for it to be him of all people that she barely took the blonde mage's words in.

"That was a mistake," his female companion, Hawke, spoke up calmly, "and this time we're here to make sure there's no repeat."

The blonde mage looked like he wanted to protest but instead he watched in disbelief as the dark haired woman ran to the man. 'Another desperate mage,' he thought pityingly, 'she must be to go to him of all people like that.'

She halted just before him, dropping her arms by her sides nervously as she stopped herself from hugging him. That wouldn't be right, would it? "Samson?" She made his name a query, uncertain as to why he was here or indeed why she was here.

He nodded with a slight frown as he took in her bruised and battered state. "Well you've looked better," he grumbled, "but it's you, he got the right mage out then."

"You've looked better too," she retorted with a small smile, "but what do you have to do with all this?"

He turned from her to address Hawke instead. "Look I secured passage for her on The Golden Dove; it will take her round the coast and up to Antiva but..."

"But you don't have the coin," the woman finished with a teasing smile. She was tall, almost as tall as him, slender with an excited gleam in her dark blue eyes, fair skinned and dark haired. Her accent was unmistakably Ferelden and her manner suggested a roughish poverty, a poor disguise though Celestia wasn't to know it.

"No I don't and the way I hear it you have plenty to spare," he answered defensively.

Celestia was alarmed by the look of desperation and hunger in his sunken, dark stare as he looked back to her. 'What's happened to him these past two years?' she wondered worriedly.

"I don't like this," the blonde mage muttered, "he only helps mages for himself."

"That ain't true," Samson practically spat at him, "I helped them out of pity once and look where it got me! Now I help them still even though it might mean the noose for me but I got a right to live too, I got a right to earn and how else should I do it? Helping them lost me my job!"

"Maddox," Celestia murmured softly.

He looked at her with a spark of interest before nodding sharply. "Stupid, lovesick bastard, I shouldn't have bothered with that nonsense. How is he anyway? I suppose you don't know, no one ever mingled much with you."

"Tranquil," she replied numbly, "at least that's what I've heard." She watched as he clenched his fists tightly together and shook just a little whilst the mage beside her almost frothed in his rage.

"Tranquil!" the blonde snapped angrily. "It's not a solution it's a sentencing worse than death, a punishment that can't be undone and for what?"

"For falling in love," Celestia mumbled quietly.

Samson sighed and grumbled a curse. "Idiot," he muttered, "I shouldn't have bothered."

"And why are you bothering with this little rabbit?" Isabella pried.

"None of your business pirate," Samson snapped at her.

"It is our business if she's another one for the slavers," the blonde protested heatedly.

"Anders," Hawke chided him, "be calm. It was Samson here who asked us to help her from the tower, I hardly think he would go to such effort only to trade her to the slavers, and he didn't profit from Feynriel or Olivia, it was a mistake. Besides, that's why we are still here; we will see what boat she goes on and who's captaining it."

"It's because he didn't profit that he sent them to a slaver," Anders, the blonde mage, growled back.

"Then you set this all up," Celestia mused as she caught Samson's sunken gaze once more, he was still trembling slightly but she knew it was not down to emotion. "Why?"

"I can only imagine what happened to you after I got thrown out," he confessed. "I just wish this could have happened sooner, not two years later but I only found someone to help recently. It took a while tracking down your origins but I did what you said and I sent those letters."

"Then there was a reply?" she gasped in disbelief as her eyes went wide.

He nodded. "Yes, it took a while to reach me, someone called Dorian, took long enough to get his attention too but eventually...well... He arranged the boat," he confessed, "half the payment now and half the payment later for the captain but I've nothing to give for the half now."

"And this Dorian didn't send any?" Hawke queried mockingly with a raised eyebrow.

Samson bristled slightly and shook his head a little too quickly. "He'll see you in Antiva," he muttered to Celestia.

"If I get there," she murmured, "I'm surprised the templars aren't all over me now, they have my phylactery."

Samson gave a yellow toothed smile at that. "No, they don't, I destroyed it, the phylactery with your name on it is a fake. Easy enough to do before word spread that I was no longer welcome in the Circle."

"Why?" Anders demanded suspiciously as he folded his arms and frowned. "Why would you that for a mage?"

Samson glanced past Celestia to scowl at the blonde mage, unimpressed with the scornful judgement in his grey-blue eyes. "I told you pair earlier, none of your damn business."

"Technically you said 'none of your business pirate'," Anders retorted dryly. "I'm not a pirate." This pathetic excuse of a man was only in for himself, Anders was certain of that, he would not even help mage children without coin. 'All he cares about is his next fix,' Anders thought angrily.

"Alright, let me make it clear, this is no one's bloody business except mine and hers," Samson snapped as he glared at the blonde.

"We helped you know," Isabella retorted with a slight pout. "Took a lot of good faith too after the last time we dealt with you."

"You helped without knowing who you were helping," Hawke pointed out with a small smile, "because I asked it and I am grateful for it and I'm sure the mage and Samson here are too."

"And all without pay I suppose," Isabella stated coldly with a frown.

"Well a drug addicted beggar hardly has any coin," Anders pointed out cynically.

Isabella rolled her eyes and sighed. "That's alright for you, you're a freedom fighting mage, and you can sleep soundly knowing you did a good deed that not only involved sticking it to Meredith but also meant helping a fellow mage. How should I sleep? Penniless as usual, this good deed thing isn't my forte; it doesn't make me sleep easier when I'm too poor to afford a room and some decent food and wine."

Hawke laughed lightly at that. "Somehow Isabella I doubt you will struggle to find coin for yourself," she jested.

Celestia continued to look at Samson, wanting to convey gratitude and yet afraid to do it. Maybe if there were alone she might throw her arms about him in desperate thanks but even then... He had always been a moody sort, rough on the outside and gradually turning dark on the inside, even in the tower Celestia had noticed that, he had pitied the mages but he had wondered about them too, started to think like the other templars that maybe the Circle was for the best. She wondered what the last two years had done to him, undoubtedly quickened the darkness in him if his dishevelled state was anything to go by, evidently the years had been as kind to him as to her. "You told me Kirkwall was a dirty place and not worth missing," she addressed him softly.

"It is," he grumbled.

"It's nice," she argued gently as she gestured to the grimy docks, "the smell of the sea, the light of the stars, I like it and I've missed it so much."

"There's better than Kirkwall to miss," Samson retorted gruffly. His pupils were wide and darting about agitatedly, he just wanted this over and done with. Even now he was wondering why he had bothered, Maddox was meant to be the last, after that he was meant to be done with mages, they were nothing but trouble in the end. The only important thing was the dust, by the Maker he needed that dust, but no one wanted to offer him work or coin so back to the mages he had ended only this time he didn't help them for free.

Yet the former templar had wondered about her, she was the Tevinter mage after all, Meredith's fine jewel on the crown of magic prisoners, she was the one they would batter and taunt the most. Meredith wanted her to be broken, to give in to a demon and be slaughtered for it, even some of the other mages had wanted that, all so they could say 'see the Tevinters are all the same, too dangerous to live'. Without any incentive he had chased up the letters he had sent two years ago, searched for new names, new information, something that might help and finally, after two years of a drug deprived futility when one day blended with the next and the only thing that stood out to him was those damn letters, he had gotten a reply.

"I miss many things," she admitted, "but you know that, I tried to forget them after you left, I even did for a while but now...it's coming back a little."

"Good," he retorted bluntly, "go find them then before you forget again." He was starting to forget things now, the need for the dust was too strong, a controlling, burning need, it was all that mattered some days, that and vengeance. This was a good start to revenge; he could only imagine how Meredith would seethe to find the Tevinter mage gone and her phylactery long destroyed. The thought made Samson give a dirty smile.

"We should get to that boat," Hawke spoke up, interrupting the awkward moment between the mage and the ex-templar. The young rogue was as curious to Samson's motives as Anders and just as certain that they were selfish as ever. Unlike Anders however, Hawke did not think it was greed driving Samson this time, no it was a little more complicated, besides what coin was he getting for this? Perhaps some small profit from this Dorian person but it couldn't be enough to risk his neck for a Tevinter prisoner of all things.

"Come on then," he remarked gruffly. He turned from them, reaching up to scratch rapidly at a red patch on his neck before leading the way down the docks.

Celestia hurried close behind him, taking in the sea air as she did, it was wonderful, so fresh and wild and a welcome replacement to the dusty odour of the Circle. The walk was disappointingly short and ended at a small, questionable, rocking boat with a grim faced, dirt cheeked man standing before it with a look of impatience in his green eyes.

"I'm waiting for a passenger looking to go to Antiva," he remarked bluntly, "is that one of you?"

Hawke took him in quickly; he looked rough, a native judging by the accent, but probably not the type to concern himself with the politics of mages and templars.

"Her," Samson grunted as he gestured to Celestia with his thumb.

"Half the coin now, half when we arrive," the man stated as he looked to the female mage moodily. He did not seem curious about her, and made no effort to take her in.

"And how much coin would that be exactly?" Hawke quipped brightly.

"Fifty gold," Samson answered bluntly before the man could contemplate a lie.

"Steep enough," Anders grumbled. 'Another man driven by greed,' he thought wearily, 'and what's to stop him taking her to slavers?'

"A decent enough price for silence, right Boggs?" Isabella remarked with a wry grin.

"Rivaini," he retorted with a small glimmer of delight in his eyes that he tried to banish. "Recovered from your last evening in The Hanged Man I see."

Isabella let out a chuckle. "For now," she retorted happily, "although as I recall it was my last morning there, the sun was most definitely up by the time I finished."

The man, Boggs, let out a short chuckle at that before flickering his stare back to Hawke. "Well, you got the coin? I was informed this was to be a quick job, hence the darkness."

Hawke grinned back at him humorously, assured by Isabella's lack of protesting that the man was trustworthy enough. Isabella was a pirate after all and one against the slave trade; if this man was into it or something worse she would be the one to know. "Yes," she answered. She hunted through a hidden pocket in her shirt before producing a small pouch of coin.

"Do you normally walk around with that kind of money?" Boggs queried dubiously.

"No but I just had a feeling it might be required," Hawke retorted lightly as she handed the pouch over.

Boggs weighed it in the palm of his hand, opened it, plucked out a gold coin and inspected it closely before returning it. 'More concerned with his bloody gold that his passenger,' Anders thought disapprovingly. 'Although, if he did inspect her more closely he might realise what she is, so maybe it's better this way.'

Boggs nodded before gesturing to the plank of wood behind him that led up to the boat and looking to Celestia. "On you go," he ordered. "Rules are simple, no questions, keep quiet, don't complain and we will get to Antiva soon enough."

She nodded back hastily before turning up to Samson who was scratching at his neck again and looking to the sea. "You don't seem happy here," she murmured softly.

"I was once," he answered flatly.

"Don't you want to leave too?" she dared to question quietly.

"No place for me anywhere else," he grumbled. "Don't concern yourself with it, just get on the boat and don't look back."

She was silent for a moment as she looked up at him awkwardly and pondered over what to say.

"Rabbit I don't think he wants a long goodbye," Isabella spoke up cheerfully as she gave the girl a sympathetic smile, "just go."

"Well thank you," Celestia said sincerely as she looked to Isabella, then Anders and finally Hawke. "Thank all of you, really..." She trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much before Boggs. "It means more than you can know." She looked back to Samson with her final words but he was still looking at the sea. "You could find a place in Antiva," she suggested, "or Orlais, or Tevinter, anywhere."

"Dust," he replied moodily, "it doesn't matter where I am the need will always be there, always the same. They get you hooked, cast you out without a care, by the Maker my insides burn for it. That's all I care about now, just the dust. You were a problem from before all that, a final loose end, now I can forget, it's better this way."

"Well thank you," she repeated, "you didn't forget me for two years, I will always be grateful for that and even if you forget I won't, I promise." She did not wait for his reply and instead stepped past the impatient looking Boggs and up onto the boat. It was old and swaying beneath her feet but sturdy enough, she had rarely travelled on them until she took one to Kirkwall but that had been a ship, bigger, newer and more reliable probably.

Boggs shared a final joke with Isabella before nodding his goodbye to the group and heading up after Celestia. He pulled up the plank and cast off himself before barking orders to the few crew members who lingered on the boat. It moved off slowly on the calm waters, a light breeze taking up the sails taking it on a leisurely beginning before the oars came out and beat the boat into speed.

Samson lowered his hand and watched the boat go with a clenched jaw, it was finally done, after two years he had seen the girl free. Now he could forget those damn letters and let the days blur, dust and revenge, that was all that mattered. He was too fallen, too poor to consider anything else, things like friendship, compassion and hope were useless, they held him back, led to disappointment and betrayal if he wasn't careful, no it was too late for all that nonsense. Just see Meredith topple off her pedestal in a bloody fashion and that would be enough, then he could give into the dust... 'Picking up the shield again would be better,' he thought bitterly, 'I'd give anything for that but the bitch will never have me back. Maybe if I offered her the Tevinter girl, shit there's a thought, could've kept her here for a bit, traded her back and blamed someone else for her escape but by the Maker would I? No, damnit, even though it's brought me nothing but grief helping the magical bastards I couldn't turn one in. I couldn't turn her back, besides Meredith will scream when she realises and everyone else will realise she's not untouchable and there are still ways to piss her off.'

Hawke looked to Samson questionably, he was sweating again and his pupils were dilated, the man was a mess and too far gone to give a damn about it. She felt pity for him, a pity he would sneer at undoubtedly but she could not help it. 'He tries, he doesn't want to anymore but he does,' she thought sympathetically. 'How much longer before he finally cracks and stops helping?' She frowned and turned away from him, there was nothing she could do for him, Meredith would hardly listen to her protests after all. "Let's go," she addressed her companions softly.

* * *

><p><em>I hope this isn't too confusing, it's starting in Kirkwall around Act 1 of DA:II but it's going to head into the world and timeline of DAI. I'm just setting it up as a fic that tries to show things from a different perspective, mainly that of the villains. As always, please read and review!<em>


	3. Chapter 2- A City of Secrets and Wine

Dorian Pavus waited by the docks with displeasure, recoiling slightly from the gruff and rather dirty looking fishermen who paced along the wooden boards impatiently. He looked up with a spark of eagerness and slight desperation as a small boat finally appeared from between two large ships and made its way to the docks. He read the faded paint and withheld a grin, his waiting in this filthy place was hopefully over now, more importantly over three years of wondering and waiting were hopefully at an end too. The altus clutched his staff tightly as he watched and waited, unable to quite hide his unease for a rare change.

When the boat finally docked and the plank was set down the Tevinter mage took a few steps forward, pausing as the stern faced captain exited first. When a robed being followed he watched with uncertainty, clenching his jaw slightly as he worried. When the hood came down he hastened forward as his brown eyes filled with delight, she was taller, thinner and older but it was her, even after three years he had not forgotten her delicate Orlesian features that, unknown to him, were too slight for anyone in Kirkwall to realise she was not Tevinter by origin. The strange girl had always stood out, she lacked the Alexius family's fine nose, small eyes and subtly handsome features, sure Felix lacked the nose as well, inheriting his from his mother's but everyone could tell he was an Alexius. Being so terribly foreign, Dorian imagined Gereon's fondness for her would have worn out had she not displayed the gift of the magi, and a strong one too, one worthy of an important Tevinter family. Such a talent kept her appearing as an exotic wonder to the nobility of the Tevinter Imperium rather than an alien oddity, although it quite naturally bred jealousy amongst the lesser people of the cities as they angered at an Orlesian brat being raised in the favourable ranks of a magister's noble family. This was why, three years ago, Dorian had encouraged her to depart the Imperium and travel the world. Had he only known what that would entail he might have cautioned her better or at least insisted upon an escort.

She fixed her golden-brown eyes upon him quickly but did not move as the captain blocked her way, undoubtedly ensuring that he got the rest of his pay. She looked tired and frustrated but mercifully still sane, rumours from Kirkwall claimed that mages captive there were driven to demon possession and tortured to the point of begging for tranquillity. Dorian hastened to the captain, plucking out a plump pouch of coin as he did. "Captain Boggs?" he queried, pronouncing the name distastefully as he thought with amusement how dreadfully common it was.

The captain gave a grunt in retort and nodded. "Do you have the coin?" he queried sharply.

"Indeed," Dorian retorted airily as he handed it over.

Boggs weighed the pouch as he had in Kirkwall and then tested a coin before nodding again and sidestepping away from the plank to grant Celestia her freedom. She stepped down with a sigh of relief before walking up to Dorian. "Three years and you haven't learnt to grow a beard," she commented mockingly.

He grinned down at her and replied brightly, "now you know if I did that then everyone else would, I set the fashion after all."

"Naturally." She nodded tiredly before waiting for him to lead the way on.

She was guarded, that was all too obvious, well taught by Gereon, although he had failed to teach her to masque her bitterness and forced stiffness with false merriment instead so as to make the ruse more believable but that was undoubtedly because he was incapable of a phoney cover too. The Alexius family members were emotional by nature and it was all they could do to bury their emotions beneath a wall of stoic indifference, anything else was just too difficult. Dorian wondered curiously if the girl's original family were better actors, being Orlesian nobility surely they had a knack for it, one that had skipped a generation evidently.

"I have quarters for us," Dorian explained, "in the city; I thought your journey might have been tiring and that it might be nice to experience some fine Antivan cuisine, away from the fish smell of course."

Celestia glanced about the busy port with intrigue; it was busier than Kirkwall and with a greater percentage of wealthier patrons. The air had a better smell to it too, saltwater, wine and spices, a pleasant mix and certainly welcome to one who had gotten all too used to the stench of mages' blood, old books and dusty rooms. "Where is this?" she queried curiously. It was a port city but Antiva was renowned for them so that didn't really narrow it down. She could see buildings everywhere she turned, they rose up in layers climbing up hills with smoothed out paths that ringed round them. A wealthy enough city though poverty was evident as it was everywhere, though she did not think it was as strictly divided by class as Kirkwall had been.

"Antiva City," Dorian answered brightly, "I felt the capital was probably the best place for good food, wine and accommodations." He walked briskly, though he made sure not to stride ahead of her, he was smiling and yet inside he was concerned. What had happened to her? How bad had it been? How long would it take before the stiff front shattered and the Alexius' emotions came tumbling out? She hadn't asked about Gereon, Emera or Felix and Dorian was afraid to mention them. Would she hold anger towards them? Did she have any for him?

"A city known for leatherworking, wine and assassins," she remarked indifferently.

"Very good," he praised, "although I should hope we need not worry about the latter. Where did you learn about Antiva City?"

"In the tower," she retorted bitterly as she stiffened, "in a tome." First Enchanter Orsino had encouraged learning about magic and Kirkwall but he had not been keen on books about places outside the Free Marches, he did not say why but it was obvious from his sorrowful gaze that it was because he did not want his students becoming fascinated with countries they would likely never see. Meredith had too tight a grasp on the Circle; even with templars she would not permit the mages to leave the city-state. Of course books about Thedas' numerous countries and cultures did exist within the tower, they were simply hard to find and often guarded jealousy by homesick mages, hopeful and naive would be travellers and the bold, or perhaps foolish, would be escapists. Naturally, no one wanted to share any knowledge or books with Celestia and it was only through Samson's grudging discretion that she had ended up with a dusty, battered book by Brother Genitivi that had contained text about Antiva.

"So you were in the Circle of Magi then?" Dorian queried quietly.

"For three years," came the icy retort.

The taller male halted and looked down at the dark haired woman gently. "We did not know," he explained gently, "you must believe that if we had it would not have been so long."

"So long for an Orlesian orphan," she murmured darkly.

Dorian frowned and wondered if the idea of abandonment was something she had come with in despair over the years or if it was an idea forced within her at the tower. "You may not have ever called Gereon father but he let you have his family name, you are an Alexius and you have been for fourteen years now," he reminded her. "You are still young, be thankful for that, there are many years to move on for this."

"Is it so easy to move on from imprisonment, torture, slavery, solitude and worse?" she answered frostily as she met his brown gaze. "Don't even answer," she murmured glumly. "I just got off the boat; don't blame me for being a little..."

"Grumpy?"

She cracked a biting smile at this before nodding and allowing Dorian to continue leading the way into the thick of the city. It was busy with trade, the buildings rose high all around them, at their doors merchants hawked cuirasses, boots and shoes of leather, spiced and sweet wines, and exotic jewels, and at their windows pots of vibrant flowers grew. There were a variety of humans, dwarves and elves wandering through the streets, merchants, buyers, tourists and local folk, some worked, some bought and others simply observed.

Their inn, The Gilded Bell, was right in the centre, just to the left of a bell tower, three stories tall, it stood on its own with a modest but impressive garden before it, guarded by low, sandy walls with a decorative, flowing fountain on either side of the path leading up to the inn's doors. Dorian opened the brass gate before gesturing Celestia to walk on. The young woman lingered on the path to look at the neat bushes and beautiful flowers on either side of her; it had been so long since she had seen such lovely plants.

"There's a much nicer and more private garden in the courtyard at the back," Dorian murmured as he urged her on. Gawking here like a commoner was most unseemly but just typical of Celestia and Dorian couldn't help but feel happy to see it even as he moved her along.

Inside they found the large lobby thriving with business as upper class men and women barked orders at their elf and human servants, fanned themselves impatiently, complained about the heat and accepted porcelain cups of tea and glasses of wine from the inn's weary looking staff without the slightest hint of gratitude.

"Good grief girl watch my dress," an Antivan woman snapped at her elf servant as she almost trod on her fine silken skirts.

"I paid enough bloody gold for this place, where's the help to get my luggage upstairs?" an Orlesian male grumbled.

"It's almost like home," Dorian jested as he led the way to the wooden bar behind which a middle aged, blonde, Antivan male stood clad in fine velvets and jewels, eyeing the Tevinter wearily. "Two rooms for an Arl Pavus."

"Arl?" Celestia quipped curiously.

"Ahem," Dorian cocked his head back to her with a wicked smile and said quietly, "I thought I'd give myself a new title, just to see if I was missing out on anything."

"Of course," Celestia murmured with a roll of her eyes.

"It got us better rooms," he murmured before he turned back to accept the bronze keys the Antivan had hastened to get.

"Top floor," the Antivan explained, "please don't hesitate to ask for anything while you are here."

"My thanks," Dorian retorted sincerely as he accepted the keys and led the way upstairs.

"Don't you have any belongings?" Celestia queried as they headed upstairs.

"Some, just a few items of clothing already in my room," Dorian answered. "I haven't been here long and I don't intend to linger, Antiva still considers us apostates you know, even if it's not as strict as Kirkwall. We have passage secured to get us home safely; carriages just outside the city will be ready for us tomorrow at noon."

"Right."

Dorian paused to look at the woman once more as they reached the third floor. "Do you want to talk about it yet or would you rather wait until we were back with Gereon and the others?"

"I'll wait," she answered calmly.

He nodded, relieved though he tried not to show it. "And would you rather go to your room now?"

"Yes." She accepted the key and unlocked the door he gestured to and entered inside. The quarters were huge and unnecessary for one person, a vast and welcome change from her cramped quarters in the tower. She had been shoved into a tiny room that was really a cell and had no bed, she was certain they would have locked her in a dungeon if one had existed in the place or condemned her to the attic or basements if they had not feared what she might do in solitude.

"Enjoy," Dorian urged, "there's a bath prepared for you, I thought you might smell...well fishy." He grinned mockingly before adding, "I'm just next door."

She nodded again. "Thank you Dorian," she said at last, her eyes burning a little with tears. "I mean it; you don't know what it meant to hear that you had replied to my letters and to find you waiting here for me."

The Tevinter looked awkward for a moment as his smile shrank just a little as he nodded back at her. "You're welcome of course; I just wish it had all happened sooner."

"Me too."

At that he turned away from her, leaving her in peace to contemplate the alien nature of freedom.

Celestia dwelled in her quarters for a couple of hours, taking a bath and changing into the clothes procured for her. It was such a relief to bathe herself in hot, soapy water that she found herself crying before marvelling at how silly it was to cry in a bath and then laughing at herself instead.

After she had dried and put on the new robes she gawked at herself in a silver mirror, frowning at Dorian's questionable taste in garments and overestimation of her bust size. With several adjustments, including tightening the sash and losing the frilly cuffs, she finally accepted that the outfit was the best it was going to be and certainly much more preferable than the tower sanctioned robes and pilfered, hooded cloak she had been wearing. With a look of displeasure she calmly rid herself of those filthy garments with a simple but effective fire spell that quickly turned the garments to ash. She tensed again, looking at her fingers in a marvel as she turned a hand over a couple of times. It had been three years since she had used magic so flippantly without fear of a templar quashing her or an enchanter heaping scorn upon her.

After that she took to the balcony and sat under the warm rays of the sun for an hour, happy just to feel them once more after two years of only glimpsing the sun through barred windows. As she sat on the stone edge of the balcony she recalled faintly how she had once been able to sit on the smaller, iron balcony of the tower, high enough that there was little fear of her or any other mage jumping off it with spikes at the top of the fence just in case they should consider climbing over it and somehow levying themselves down the tower. Back then balcony privileges were rare for any mage and eventually banned in a matter months, and Celestia had only been allowed out a handful of times, each time under the watchful gaze of Samson. It had benefited her as much as the templar as he had been able to escape 'that damn smell of burning' when the mages practised fire spells, and the potions that he claimed had 'stunk worse than a whore's arse', and slip some lyrium while he was at it. Of course it had all been spoiled by Commander Cullen catching them outside one early evening, scolding them both and sending Celestia back to her quarters with a grumbled curse and a look of disgust.

As she had observed Antiva City she had noted how different it was from Kirkwall, brighter and livelier, sure there were some shady figures, and hints of poverty and despair but the atmosphere was lighter and there was even singing and music to be heard.

Finally, Dorian had come knocking on the door and urged her to dinner and so she had abandoned her perch on the balcony and her fresh, clean room to accompany him downstairs for her first proper meal in years.

Nightfall, in some parts of Antiva City it was hard to tell the difference between night and day save for the appearance of torches and lit lanterns. There were still people working and bartering, there were no more cutthroats and prostitutes than usual and just as many drunkards and revellers at dusk as there were at dawn. The more pious citizens were safely tucked in doors whilst the rogues and cutpurses roamed the streets hoping to sneak past the guards of a wealthy citizen being escorted to a fine party.

For a mage who had spent years of her evenings locked up in a tower the night air had been too much to resist and so she, and her reluctant and weary companion, had slipped out of their fine trappings to roam the streets of a city as well known for its assassins as it was its wine.

"Let's go have one drink and then back," Dorian said as he glanced at the dark alleys they passed with a frown. "We will be in for a long day of travelling tomorrow," he reminded her.

"I know," Celestia retorted blithely as she led the way on, following a trail of music that was filled with the perfumed scent of nobility and the odour of expensive wine and sweetmeats. It ended round a corner and up to a wide, four storey building with beautiful alabaster and marble statues at its front, and heavily armoured guards on either side of its tall, double doors that stood raised on four stone steps.

Several nobles walked up the turquoise tiled path to the house, pausing impatiently as their servants fumbled for a golden envelope that snapped open to presumably reveal an invite, which they showed to the guards before they were granted entry.

'An exclusive party,' Celestia thought in wonderment as she recalled her mother hosting several of those long ago. There would be much dancing, rumours of important guests behind glittery masks and rare dishes cooked by expensive chefs. Celestia shuddered as she recalled a brief image of numerous masked dancers swaying about her parents' ballroom, those masks stood out best in her mind, so easy to conceal and deceive, friend or foe, one could never tell. She imagined the House of Repose had barely broken a sweat when intruding upon her mother's lavish party and ensuring it would forever be known as The Bloody Ball of Orlais.

"You can't really want to go to a party," Dorian commented wearily even as he looked to the house eagerly, just as intrigued as Celestia.

"Why not? It's been three years since I've had any fun," Celestia answered pointedly as she continued to look at the lavishly dressed men and women that entered the quarters.

"Let's see, we're not properly dressed, we've no invites, oh yes, and we're apostates here and I would've thought you had had your fill of templar oppression," Dorian rhymed off cheerfully.

Celestia turned away with a sigh, turning back only when she heard a cry of indignation. The guards had opened the doors once more but were not permitting anyone else to enter, despite the invites being waved at them.

"This is a legitimate invite you know!" an Orlesian woman shrieked.

The guards said nothing but instead stepped within the building and shut the doors firmly leaving the nobles to shout protests at them. Celestia watched on curiously as Dorian remarked, "well now, that is rather odd."

"Strange way to guard a place," Celestia retorted as she continued to watch.

After a few minutes the nobles finally gave up and slinked off but no one came back out and Dorian eventually grew weary and said, "shall we move on?"

A part of Celestia thought that was the sensible thing to do, after three years of effectively being a prisoner in a foreign land she had no desire to see her circumstances repeated and yet something drew her to the house. There was a faint whisper in her mind, too soft to make out the words, it was more like a breeze blowing gently through her mind and coaxing her forward.

"Celestia please don't be doing anything foolish," Dorian said wearily when the younger woman started to walk forward.

She did not approach the main path but instead moved up to the left side of the house, there was no wall to guard it, only a low, bronze fence that could be easily hopped over. She supposed in the centre of a crowded city like this it would be hard to have the space to erect fences and walls but still, the building had found the space for statues to decorate its front so why not some sort of defence? She eyed the windows curiously, tall and arch shaped, almost reaching the bottom of the walls, the curtains were drawn and only a golden glow was visible through them. They were divided into colourful panes separated by bronze, ensuring that if they were smashed one would have to do it pane by pane, giving anyone within plenty of time to react before there could be an intrusion.

When they reached the back of the house they found it mostly in shadow, one lone, wooden door barely visible behind ivy and a few bushes. 'The servants' entrance?' Celestia pondered as she approached it carefully. She held up a palm, sensing outwards for any traps and tensed when she detected something tingly and a little out of the ordinary.

"An ice glyph," Dorian remarked in a voice that was both impressed and suspicious, "strange sort of defence to have. Surely if someone triggered it, it would only draw all sorts of unwanted attention from templars."

"Maybe they're high enough in Antivan society for templars to look the other way," Celestia suggested as she stepped up to it. She disabled it with minimal effort, though her years in the Circle had made her rusty rather than improved, she had not forgotten the strict teachings of magic she had learned in the Tevinter Imperium. When she had first shown signs of the gift, Gereon had rushed to see her properly taught, he and Emera had even arranged a small celebration in it. She had learned a few years later that it was because had she not displayed any magical ability Gereon undoubtedly would have had to give her up, it would be too shameful and cause too many questions to have an ordinary human so close to his family.

Dorian watched cautiously as the glyph flickered a few times and threatened to go off before it was finally eliminated. "Did the Circle teach you anything?" he queried with genuine interest.

"That I was a terrible thing to exist," Celestia answered bluntly as she tested the round handle gingerly. "A Tevinter and a mage, the two worst things in Thedas," she sneered quietly. "It didn't matter that I said I was Orlesian, my accent made a liar of me." She sighed as she inspected the lock, it didn't look too difficult but lock picking wasn't a skill that came naturally to her.

"Surely the Circle couldn't hate you for being a mage, that would be a little masochistic of them, no?" Dorian folded his arms as he waited for the dark haired woman to give up on this odd pursuit and abandon the house.

"Some of them did hate what they were, some even prayed to the Maker for forgiveness for the sin of magic," Celestia answered bitterly as she raised one palm up to the handle. She was beginning to tire already and regretted her wasteful use of magic to burn her hateful Circle robes. "In general though the First Enchanter fought against such stigma, he went head to head with the Knight-Commander a lot while I was there but when it came to me... Well you know, the Tevinters are the big bad, everything that's shit, well must be because of a Tevinter. Slavery, the Blights, woe is the world and all because of the Tevinter Imperium."

"Ah yes that old chestnut, we do have quite the reputation don't we?" he retorted gleefully. He quickly looked surprised and muttered a curse when Celestia chose to banish the lock and handle with a small fireball. "So much for subtly," he grumbled as she then kicked in the door. "I see the Free Marches' barbaric side has rubbed off on you then." He hastened to follow her into the house, wondering if maybe imprisonment had driven her just a little mad.

Within they found themselves in a storage room where wooden barrels and crates were stacked up and bottles of wine sat in numerous racks. It was dark, a little dusty and void of life with a set of stone steps leading up and out of it. Celestia wasted no time in hastening up the stairs, through the door and into chaos.

It was a large kitchen with a fire still blazing in a wide, stone fireplace whilst upturned brass pots, smashed goblets and porcelain plates, bits of food cooked and uncooked sullied the floor along with smears of blood. It was a mess, a table was broken, chairs upturned and there were odd, long scratches along a wall as if someone had dragged their nails along it. One door was broken off its hinges and half in the doorway, beneath it was a pool of blood, whilst the door to the larder was simply gone, though splinters and a few chunks of wood indicated that it somehow exploded. As for the larder itself, it was mostly shrouded in darkness but there was a limp white arm extending out of it, ending in a bloody stump as the hand was gone.

"I think this is enough exploring for the night," Dorian commented swiftly, "time to go."

A shrill scream cut through the air, coming from behind a shut door at the opposite end of the room. Another followed it, along with several pleas for mercy. Everything in Celestia told her to run and hide and she trembled as she recalled the screams that had awoken her at home and how she had found Tarin dead and that terrible fiend Corvus sitting on his bed. 'I can't run,' she told herself firmly, 'I can't, people are in danger!'

"Celestia don't be a fool!" Dorian protested as the woman ran to the door and forced it open.

She froze in shock as she entered the lobby and found something that was just bizarre. There were bloody corpses of elven servants but there were also statues scattered across the room, most of them looked like nobles, some were terrified, some with blank expressions, some in the middle of talking, all of them different and all of them disturbingly lifelike.

"And it's all got a bit stranger," Dorian mused. He cursed when another scream erupted from somewhere to the left. Before he could protest Celestia started to run, hurrying through a double set of doors and into a glamorous room lit up by ornate gold torches hanging on all the walls illuminating large, impressive portraits and paintings. Again there were statues and bodies, but there was also something much, much worse.


	4. Chapter 3- Demons

It was tall, humanoid and hunched over with long, large arms, a serpentine neck that was bent over with a brown shell and cowl over it and a face with one large, glowing, white eye and an open maw that was formed of purple fangs that seemed to have fused together.

"Ah good, a demon," Dorian simplified the matter with ease as he held his staff forward.

Celestia looked up at it in horror, she knew all about demons all too well having encountered several in her sleep in the Fade but she had only ever seen one in the flesh in Thedas, a rage demon, which Gereon had been quick to vanquish. In Tevinter it was an open secret that certain mages bargained with demons but not the Alexius family, Gereon considered blood magic beneficial to a degree but did not believe that dealing with demons was worth the risk of possession.

In its claws it clutched a very much struggling male, he had closely shaved hair, was well dressed and was armed with two bloody daggers but that was all Celestia could tell about him. Dorian sent a flurry of lightning sparks at the demon and it was swift in whipping its head up to face them with a snarl of irritation.

"Hungry," it hissed at them in a rattling voice, "always hungry, always wanting more."

Celestia threw a fireball at its face in answer and it immediately dropped its would be victim and came at her with a hiss. She was not expecting it to be so quick and found herself backhanded hard with its large, clawed hand and soaring through the room. She struck a wall with a painful cry and fell to the floor limp as blood seeped out from the back of her skull and her vision blurred and threatened to go black.

"Shit, are you alright?"

She turned dumbly at the voice and made out three identical men waving at her anxiously from under a table. She blinked hard and the three became one, an anxious, youthful, fair skinned male with messy, dark brown hair and blood streaking down his cheeks.

"Quick," he hissed at her, "it won't notice you here."

Celestia slumped forward with a groan of pain; she was dazed and incapable of lifting a hand to defend herself. The table seemed miles away and she couldn't even focus long enough to spy the demon or Dorian. There was a terrible ringing in her ears, her head was pounding and she could just make out a crackling sound that she thought was a lightning attack.

"Come on," the male urged her, "you need to be hidden, you need to be safe."

Celestia found herself crawling towards him, horribly slow as her head continued to throb and her vision blacked out several times for a few seconds. She reached him at last with a weary sigh and flopped beside him. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"The master of this house had an obsession with having the best decor; he became fascinated with statues and hungry for the finest in the country. He travelled a lot and saw many fine homes and it made him greedy for more," the man explained. "He seemed to get his wish, such lifelike statues started appearing in his home, we couldn't have known how..." He sagged his head in grief.

Celestia turned to the statues, wincing when one was smashed to rubble by a swing of the demon's hand. "They're..."

"Real, yes," the man answered, "the work of a demon."

"Then the master of the house is a mage?" Celestia marvelled.

"We didn't know," the man repeated, "not until tonight, he got ravenous for more, started changing the party guests with his spell, hungrier and hungrier for more, that's the nature of the demon you see. It's a hunger demon, and it's possessed him."

Possession, Celestia had had that terrible scenario drilled into her from an early age; the tutors in Minrathous had been stern with their warnings about it, each night when she dreamed there might be a test. The Circle had hammered home just how vulnerable and susceptible mages were to possession; there Celestia had learned there was a method of prevention, a permanent solution in fact- Tranquillity. They had had a test for new mages to test the dangers of possession, the Harrowing, normally just for mages who were apprentices, First Enchanter Orsino had been persuaded to make an exception for Celestia. It had been terrible and even now she still had nightmares about it, the labyrinth she had been trapped in with deformed gold walls that showed her reflection back in a distorted and monstrous form and the templar waiting to slay her if she had failed. Being a special prisoner of the Circle it had been no ordinary templar waiting to cut her down but the Knight-Commander himself, Meredith's second in command Cullen. Celestia knew she would never forget the disappointment in his eyes when she had awoken or how closely pressed his sword was against her throat. Orsino had confessed gravely that if she had taken only a few mere seconds more to awaken from the Fade, Cullen would have killed her.

"I need to help," she groaned as she forced herself out from under the table.

"Wait," the man protested, "it's safer here!"

She pushed herself upright though it caused her to suffer another dizzy spell. There was a blur of movement, a panting Dorian who bore several scratches, the demon and another, the man with the bloody daggers. He struck out a brave blow at the demon's legs but the creature was barely fazed. Celestia gritted her teeth and conjured up an ice spell, showering the demon with flakes of frost before it could kill the man with the daggers.

It gave a wail of fury as it was frozen to the spot giving Dorian the chance to lash out with a deadly blast of fire that turned the creature to a roaring black, burning figure before it turned to dust. Dorian gave a smug grin whilst Celestia sagged slightly. She hit the floor on her knees and her vision turned black again as her wound throbbed unbearably.

"_It's safe here, quickly, back under the table_." _She let out a groan of agony; the voice was to her left. Safe? "Come on, don't you want to be safe?" Yes, of course she did, safe from demons, wasn't that what the Circle promised to keep Thedas? Safe from all those nasty maleficars, apostates and demons, weren't they all the same to some? _

_She could see the table and the brown haired man under it, beckoning her to him encouragingly. "Come on," he urged, "hurry before it's too late!"_

_She could hear the roar of a demon, close, too close. Possession, hurt, death, the Circle had preached about all that, Meredith had warned about it, so many in Kirkwall had seemed obsessed with it. Imprisonment had worn Celestia down; the demons' words had become sweeter with each new night in confinement. She had thought the first nights the worst until a year later when Samson had been kicked out, the only person who had been capable of speaking to her without disgust or wanting something, in his absence the demons had promised friendship, freedom and other tempting things._

"_Hurry!"_

She awoke at Dorian's rough shaking, bleary eyed and confused, he had to shake her again to bring her to her senses. "No time for sleeping," he scorned her, "we have to get out of here." He pulled her to her feet and urged her to the door.

"Wait," she protested. She found the man with the daggers at her other side, tired, bruised and annoyed but still very much alive. "There was another," she said as she looked about in puzzlement for the man with the brown hair. She spied the table but he was no longer under it.

"No there wasn't," the short haired man protested moodily.

She looked to him with a frown. "Yes there was," she insisted, "a brown haired man under the table."

Dorian sighed in exasperation before looking about the room quickly. "There's no one living here," he observed.

Celestia's frown deepened even as she saw for herself that it was true, there was no trace of the brown haired man.

"He must have gone," Dorian insisted, "as should we." He took her by the hand and began pulling.

"Wait," Celestia protested again, "what about the rest of the house? What if there are other survivors?"

"There aren't," the man with the daggers said firmly.

"And how do you know?" she demanded. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated calmly. "Not that I am without gratitude but your presence is as misplaced as mine."

Dorian shook his head in despair. "Questions for outside surely, where it's a little less demony."

"He turned them into statues," Celestia remarked in horror as they passed the statue of a wide eyed woman.

"How do you know that?" the stranger queried with a bright, blue eyed look of suspicion. His accent was Antivan, his voice smooth and pleasant on the ears thought there was a hint of irritation to it that he could not suppress.

"Living statues?" Dorian marvelled as he paused to study the female statue. "What kind of magic is that? Hmm, it explains the demon, a pact then?"

"How do you know I'm right about it?" Celestia queried the Antivan as she met his gaze with equal suspicion in her own.

"Because I saw him do it," the Antivan confessed, "it's what he holds the parties for, to get new...decorations, of course I didn't learn that until tonight. Had I known he was a mage who was going to become a demon I would have asked for more gold."

"More gold?" Dorian echoed. He took a moment to properly take in the man- middle aged, bloodstained, respectably dressed, well he had been presumably until battle had caused his clothes to become ripped and blood spattered, and frankly too well armed and good in battle to be a noble. "You weren't a party guest," Dorian realised.

"No more than you two."

They paused as they reached the bottom of the main set of stairs, marble with gilded banisters and two statues of alluring, masked women guarding them. Celestia suppressed a shudder as she looked at the statues, two women trapped in stone forever. "Why is the spell not undone?" she wondered aloud. "The demon is slain."

"Demons are rarely slain permanently," Dorian reminded her, "it has simply returned to the Fade. As for the spell, either there is no undoing it or there is a counter spell, either way that will remain a mystery to us." He glanced to the double doors that marked the front of the house and remarked, "I think it would be rather rash to leave by the front, perhaps we should return the way we came."

"No," Celestia remarked as she looked to the stairs, "we need to find answers, a way to help these people!"

"Good luck with that," the Antivan remarked sardonically.

"Celestia one demon for the evening is my limit," Dorian retorted wearily.

"You owe us," she snapped at the Antivan, "and besides, one demon was the demon, right? The mage used it to bring about this terrible spell and he got too greedy and it possessed him."

"Possessed? So that's what happened," the Antivan grumbled, "but how can you be so sure just one demon was involved?"

"Well it had to be just one, one pact with one demon," she insisted, "to bring about magic that could turn people into statues."

"And you think this mage just left a clue about the spell lying around?" Dorian questioned in exasperation.

"Well, this is his home so yes," Celestia retorted. "Please, let's have a quick look at least; I need to know that we at least tried."

"Why are you so eager to help strangers?" the Antivan demanded.

"Because strangers helped me," she confessed thinking of Samson, the pirate woman, the mage known as Anders and the roughish Hawke. Samson had gotten to know her but the first time he had tugged her up from a templar's beating and snarled off the young, thuggish brat he had not known her, merely of her.

"_So you're the infamous Tevinter."_

_She glowered up at the templar holding her right arm but it was difficult to glower when her right eye was swollen shut and her left watering from her efforts to blink blood out of it. He was the same as the rest, dressed in the same heavy, steel armour with the winged sword at the breastplate and the red sash at the waist and pooling down at the front hiding the armour protecting his legs. She waited silently for the taunt or kick that would inevitably follow, certain that he had only chased off the other templar so he could have his own fun._

"_Are you deaf?" he queried calmly as he looked at her curiously with pale, grey eyes. "Hmm, no, no damage to your ears," he observed. "Well you could at least thank me, if we're both lucky Taryn will hold his tongue but if we're unlucky he'll run crying to Cullen."_

"_Thank you?" she queried coldly. Tasting blood, she turned away from him and spat a glob onto the floor before turning back to him fiercely, daring him to reprimand her for it._

"_Well fuck, a templar does you a good turn and you wonder why you should thank him?" he queried with a smirk. "Never mind, guess it's that Tevinter side of you, frown upon the lesser folk and all that shit." He released her and snapped, "be on your way then."_

_She looked at him in disbelief before saying quietly, "thank you, and my name is Celestia, not that it matters."_

_He let out a short, mocking laugh at that. "It matters, it's a bit better than Tevinter, or blood bitch, I've heard that one a couple of times, even demon slut, that one seems unfair, can't imagine you court demons in this place. Anyway, I'm Samson, preferable to templar bastard, Cullen's lackey and Meredith's bitch, I have to say, that last one stung, you robes are getting a little more hurtful with your insults," he added sarcastically._

"_I've never called you or any other templar that," she retorted frostily as she held back a bloody smile. It wasn't as if the insults were undeserved, a majority of the templars here had earned a lot worse than name calling._

"_To our faces," Samson retorted tauntingly._

_She pushed back some of her tangled hair as she continued to look at him curiously and couldn't help but ask, "why did you help me?"_

_He shrugged. "Seemed unfair beating on you just for existing."_

Samson hadn't found his logic unusual but Celestia had been surprised by it. Wasn't that the whole issue with mages, that they should be imprisoned and worse just for making the mistake of existing? She moved up the stairs without waiting for the Antivan or Dorian's reply, prompting Dorian to mutter a curse.

"I'm not exactly a man of honour," the Antivan muttered, "really I should just go and leave you to this nonsense." Even as he muttered he watched Celestia with a degree of guilt in his vibrant blue eyes.

"Leave a young woman to ascend into darkness and malice, how chivalrous," Dorian mocked as he started to follow after said young woman reluctantly."Is this cabin fever?" he pondered aloud. "Being cooped up for too long makes you want to court danger and adventure hmm?"

"No," Celestia answered moodily, "being cooped up and tormented for three years makes me want to run under the sun, roll in fields and lie under the sky for hours as far away from templars and Circles as I can manage. This I'm doing because it's the right thing to do."

"Ah, that annoying thing, the right thing," Dorian retorted brightly.

The Antivan rolled his eyes behind the pair before following after them, though even he wasn't sure why. "You know my friends, this is madness," he warned them.

"Are we friends already?" Dorian quipped cheerfully as he glanced back at the man to give him a winning smile. 'He's pleasant enough but a little too plain for my taste and not enough hair,' he thought critically.

"I think only friends would journey into the unknown lair of a maleficar together," the Antivan pointed out.

"Alright, well in that case my name is Dorian, and that crazy woman manipulating us into this is Celestia."

"I'm not crazy," Celestia growled back, "just a little rusty to the normal world which I think you can forgive me for."

"Of course, I shall certainly forgive you when a demon tears me into pieces or perhaps just you and then I have to explain to Gereon why that happened," Dorian replied happily.

"Well I am Ignacio," the Antivan introduced himself, choosing to ignore Dorian's comment about being torn into pieces.

"And why were you at this delightful gathering Ignacio?" Dorian queried as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Business," Ignacio answered bluntly.

"Strange sort of business?" Dorian made it a question.

"Well if it wasn't it certainly became that," Ignacio grumbled.

Celestia paused at the top of the stairs glancing left and right, both corridors were in darkness, prompting her to conjure a small handful of flames to light one of the brass torches. She lifted it from its hold, doubling over with the weight of it. She grasped it in both hands, fumbling to stand upright as her cheeks flushed faintly as she heard Dorian chuckle at her. "It's not exactly practical," she spat out.

"No, well nobles aren't known for practical," Ignacio pointed out before he glanced from Celestia to Dorian. "You pair aren't noble are you?" His gaze lingered on Dorian as he took in his expensive looking, fine tailored robes.

"Why, if we are does that make us the exception that is practical?" Dorian queried.

"No," Ignacio retorted.

Celestia saw a faint glow down the right corridor and wondered how she had missed it before lighting the torch. It was a small line at the bottom of a door halfway up the corridor on its left side, faint and flickering, it was the only sign of light on the floor apart from her torch. So the intrigued mage headed towards it swiftly. Upon reaching it, she inspected the door carefully but there was no sign of any glyphs or traps so she dared to reach for the handle and found that it turned with ease.

She stepped into the room and dropped the torch in surprise when she found ten of herselves looking back. Mirrors, they formed a circle around her, tall, arched and wrong. She looked at her reflections in horror but only one seemed to duplicate her expression. One was giving a sultry grin as she struck a suggestive pose, another was covered in blood and open wounds, a staff clutched tightly in hand, another was barely clothed and crying bulbous tears as the shadow of a templar lingered behind, but the one that had her hooked was the one directly in front of her.

It was her but it wasn't, an ornate mask of gold concealed half her features, though her brown eyes were still recognisable even if the cool, murderous gaze in them wasn't. This other she wore the fine silks of a rich Orlesian but no skirts or dresses, it was a much more practicable outfit of pale blue trousers with a gold trim, a long, cream shirt with gold buttons and lacing and in both hands twisted daggers with decorative, gemmed handles. She shuddered as she remembered a man who wore the same mask, down to the minute engravings that suggested stars and crescent moons with birds, a man who called himself Corvus and had danced so innocently with her one fateful evening before helping to slaughter her friends and family.

She fell to her knees in horror as the mirrors all simultaneously shattered outwards and she was showered in glittering shards. She shut her eyes tightly as the shards cut into her, drawing blood and Corvus' purring voice filled her ears along with Cullen's scornful voice and the leering, threatening voice of Taryn. She had been unlucky, Taryn had not gone to Cullen as Samson had thought he might, instead he had bided his time and waited to get her alone. "_Tevinter tout well I bet you fuck as good as any other mage in here!_"

She clenched her fists tightly together, digging her nails into her palms as she tried to suppress those wretched memories. She had sent a shower of sparks into Taryn's face for that, a moment of fear and it had almost cost her everything. He had threatened her with everything he could think of- Meredith, Orsino, Cullen, Tranquility, death- and she had been scared, so scared she had been willing to do anything. He had lost his fear of her, reasserted his control and his dominance and ensured her fear of him and the other templars would grow.

"I warned you," it was the heated voice of the man under the table, "I warned you to hide! Come now, quick, before it gets you!"

She opened her eyes in confusion and found him looking back and beckoning her over anxiously.

"You can't run little mage," Taryn called from behind. She felt his gloved hands upon her shoulders and she screamed as she was jerked back.

"Here, quickly," the brown haired man urged, "you'll be safe!"

Safe, yes she wanted to be safe; she had wanted safety for years. She felt blood at her palms as her nails drew crescents of it out.

"Mages aren't people like us," Cullen spoke up icily from her left, "they need guarded."

"Tranquil, that's what you will become if you don't obey," Taryn threatened.

She was breathing quickly, too quickly, everything seemed dark and she was bleeding from where the mirror shards had cut. There was something moving out of the corner of her eye, tall, lithe, green and terrifying.

"Hurry," the brown haired man cried out, "before it's too late!"

Her palms were up and out, the blood seeping from them seemed to be humming, it was warm and full of power and only going to waste by dripping onto the floor. She was shaking, Taryn was here, Cullen was here and she could hear Meredith's thunderous voice getting closer, templars all around promising to turn her Tranquil. No, she couldn't allow it! She saw the spindly green creature moving to the right and turned quickly, summoning strength from her blood. The lightning came out as a storm, bigger and wilder than planned. White, burning sparks danced all around in a fury turning the creature into a dancing marionette, odd and yet still terrifying as it howled. With its screams the voices of the templars began to fade away.

Celestia gave a satisfied smile as the creature fell in an ungainly heap of tangled limbs as her vision began to dim. Too much power, too much blood lost. Exactly what they feared, wasn't it? What they had driven her too...

It was as the woman hit the floor face down that the barrier in the doorway finally collapsed under Dorian's fire attacks and he charged into the room in a fury. He halted as he realised there seemed to be nothing to the room except a few tables and chairs, dusty vases, forgotten paintings and Celestia, unconscious beside the fading light of her dropped torch with smears of blood beneath her.

_So I've tried to be faithful to the Dragon Age world and lore but I've probably taken some liberties and undoubtedly will take some more. I've read up all I can on demons, the Fade and mages but there's still stuff I don't get, like how Ferelden was rife with demons in Dragon Age: Origins when they shouldn't be able to cross physically into the real world unless the Fade is thin? Is it thin everywhere? Were they possessing mages? I'm not totally sure.  
>Anyway, why Ignacio, why not? :-) Always loved him in Origins, maybe it was just the accent, anyway he got bored after Origins, came back to Antiva and took up a contract because he was getting rusty, more on that later.<em> _Apologies to Cullen fans, I love him in Inquisition but he was a bit of an arse in Dragon Age II to mages, but we'll see how he develops in this fic._

_Please review, I really appreciate it and thanks for the alerts and favs so far!_


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